


Morendo

by Taliya



Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Blood and Gore, Character Death, Friendship, Gen, Ghosts, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Music, Magic, Sad Ending, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 19:24:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8222135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taliya/pseuds/Taliya
Summary: It’s been two years since Kaitou KID disappeared.  Rumors have spread throughout greater Tokyo of a house in which the sole inhabitant mysteriously disappeared.  Every night at midnight, music would play from the piano in the abandoned home, and the locals of Ekoda believe the musician is a ghost.  Character death.  Written for Poirot Café’s 6-8k Writing Competition #5: Haunted.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Detective Conan and Magic Kaito characters, settings, and ideas do not belong to me but to Aoyama Gōshō.
> 
> Word Count: 6164

Morendo: _adj. or adv._ (Italian, lit. “dying”) [in music] Indicates a decrease in volume or tempo, but often affects both; to make the sound slowly die away. Morendo creates the effect of a slow ritardando and a diminuendo with an extreme fade.

\---

_[09:37:24] Shin-chan, have you heard any news of a missing Kuroba Kaito whenever you were at police headquarters?_

\---

“Ne, ne, did you hear?” nine-year-old Yoshida Ayumi whispered excitedly as she and her friends packed their bags in preparation to go home. Class had let out for the week, leaving them free to while away their weekend together.

“No, what?” questioned Kojima Genta. Tsubaraya Mitsuhiko, Edogawa Conan, and Haibara Ai waited for Ayumi to explain her excitement.

She glanced around, as though to ensure nobody else would eavesdrop on their conversation, and it had the effect of drawing the friends into a closer circle. “One of Saiyuki-chan’s friends in Ekoda Elementary says there is a house there that’s _haunted_!”

“Haunted?” Conan asked curiously.

Ayumi nodded. “From what Saiyuki-chan’s friend said, someone disappeared in that house and now there is music that plays from a piano inside every night at midnight.” She shuddered, only partially out of theatricality. “Maybe it’s a ghost!”

“But ghosts don’t exist,” Mitsuhiko stated with an air of supreme confidence despite the fact that he _was_ contradicting one of the two girls he had a crush on. “They’re only stories used to scare little kids.” Ayumi frowned as she lowered her gaze, somewhat discouraged by the freckled boy’s skepticism. “Ah! I mean… we can still go visit just to check whether or not it really _is_ haunted,” he quickly tacked on upon seeing his friend’s downtrodden expression.

In the background, Conan quietly snickered, and Ai elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “Oi!” he protested, sending her a petulant glare.

“You’re going with them, right?” the strawberry blonde asked with a pointed stare.

Conan blinked. “You mean you aren’t?”

“You have to come, Conan-kun!” Ayumi pleaded, turning wide eyes upon the object of her affections. “You too, Ai-chan!”

“Yeah, it’s not right if you both don’t come! The Shounen Tantei-dan is needed to investigate!” Genta proclaimed, and both Ayumi and Mitsuhiko cheered in agreement. “We’ll go tonight!”

“You guys,” Conan inserted with a dry tone that made the excited nine year olds pause in their zeal, “How are you going to get there and back that late? And aren’t your parents going to mind that you’re all out past ten?”

 _“Aww,”_ the three collectively groaned as their enthusiastic bubble was popped by their friend’s pragmatism.

“My parents wouldn’t let me out that late,” Mitsuhiko complained, and Ayumi and Genta agreed, depressed.

“Perhaps this is one mystery better left untouched,” Ai finally announced, and by the faint wobble in her voice Conan suspected that the mention of a “disappearance” instantly brought to her mind the likes of people like Gin and Vermouth.

He, for one, privately decided that a visit to this haunted house in Ekoda was warranted—to obtain a potential lead on the Organization, if nothing else.

\---

“—be _fine_ , Kaa-san,” Kudou Shinichi reiterated. The nineteen-year-old detective who had been de-aged by ten years sat within the confines of the library within the Kudou home, taking a much-needed break from pretending to be an abnormally brilliant child.

 _“Just—be careful, Shin-chan,”_ Kudou Yukiko said over the phone, and there was an audible wobble in her voice that was closely followed by a discrete sniffle.

“Oi, Kaa-san, are you all right?” Shinichi asked, suddenly worried and wondering why his mother was _crying_. “What’s wrong?”

The actress huffed a laugh. _“Ever the detective, my son,”_ she joked.

Shinichi frowned. “Seriously,” he pressed, anxiety twisting his stomach. “What’s wrong, Kaa-san?”

 _“Oh, Shin-chan,”_ Yukiko said as her voice cracked, and for once he did not protest her use of the nickname—there was so much emotion in her voice that it resonated deeply within his heart and spoke of her untold fears and grief. _“Tomorrow’s the day that Touichi-sensei’s son, Kaito-kun, disappeared.”_

And all of a sudden her melancholy made perfect sense. Kuroba Touichi had been her mentor in the art of disguise, and over the years he had been regaled with tales of the man’s abilities and antics during her time as his student. Shinichi had been told that Touichi, a professional magician by trade, had a wife and a child—Chikage and Kaito, respectively—and that Kaito was his age. Touichi had died eight years ago in a stage accident, leaving behind his grieving wife and child. Shinichi had overheard his father’s discussions with his mother regarding his private theories that Touichi’s death had not been an accident—that his death had been orchestrated. That Kaito was now gone too—it was a married woman’s worst fear to lose her entire family—and Shinichi could not begrudge his mother her emotions.

“I—I didn’t know,” he murmured quietly, unsure of what else to say in the face of his mother’s pain.

 _“Chikage-san left Kaito-kun alone when Touichi-sensei died,”_ Yukiko breathed, _“because she was unable to handle the pain of her loss. She made sure that Kaito-kun had a roof over his head, clothes to wear, and food to eat, but she was never home for very long. I think the sight of her son reminded her too much of the husband she had lost. But now that Kaito-kun’s gone… well, I heard she had been admitted into a mental facility not long after.”_

Shinichi felt his chest tighten and his heart ache in sympathy and empathy for his mother’s teacher’s wife. To have lost the most important people to her was something _no one_ should have to endure. Considering how Kaito had simply disappeared—that the deaths of both father and son had likely been murders…

 _“Yuu-chan bought their house soon after he heard about her admittance,”_ Yukiko revealed, and Shinichi sat up, confused and intrigued.

“Why?”

 _“Because we had heard the rumors of the ghost that played the piano every night,”_ she explained. She sniffled once more before she continued. _“If that person playing the piano was—_ is _—Kaito-kun, then I think Chikage-san would want to be able to personally lay her son to rest. She would want the closure, if she was able to handle it.”_ Yukiko’s voice was thick with emotion. _“Shin-chan,”_ she whispered with a quiver, _“A mother should_ never _have to bury her son.”_

Shinichi stared thoughtfully at the domed ceiling of the library as he listened to his mother choke back tears. “Their house is in Ekoda, right?” he asked quietly.

 _“Yes,_ ” the actress sighed. _“Are you going to visit?”_

“Yes,” the shrunken detective said with a nod. “Maybe I can figure out who is the one playing the piano.”

 _“Be careful, Shin-chan,”_ his mother cautioned. There was a shaky breath, and then Yukiko murmured softly, _“I love you, Shinichi.”_

Shinichi felt his heart and throat squeeze in response as he whispered, “I love you too, Kaa-san.”

\---

The Ekoda clock tower’s hands shifted heavenward, and as the minute hand scooted onto the twelve the bells within the tower began to toll, chiming twelve times to announce to all the night’s zenith. Somewhere not too far away, inside a dusty, abandoned house, a small, circular seal inscribed with a complex pattern of geometric shapes and sigils glowed to life on the surface of the coffee table in the living room, a monocle with a forest green clover charm shimmering an eerie crimson and shaking violently at its center.

The eyewear then levitated itself into the air, shifting as though someone had picked it up and placed it on their nose. From the height of a taller-than-average person’s face, the vermilion light diffused behind it to form the shape of a person. Male, tall, and slender, the resultant specter wore an ensemble of a white suit with a cobalt shirt and crimson tie, along with a white, blue-banded top hat and a cape. White gloves and the monocle completed the outfit, though a large and unsightly patch of rust across most of his right side marred his otherwise pristine appearance—that and the three circular, ragged holes that went clean through the right side of his chest, though oddly enough none of the blood had stained his cape.

The man inhaled deeply, held it for a moment, and then exhaled. Indigo eyes slowly opened, taking the familiar sight of his living room, which was currently doused in shadow that was intermittently broken by the moonbeams that streamed through the cracks of the window curtains. His gaze crawled over his surroundings before coming to rest on the red seal, and he scowled ferociously at the symbol of his incarceration. His ears took in the distant tolls of the clock and, as if drawn by some inescapable force, his feet—which were invisible and faded away mid calf along with the hem of his cloak—took him to the white Steinway & Sons baby grand piano.

With reverence, he lifted the fallboard and slid the dust cover off the keyboard, his translucent fingers delicately brushing the familiar keys. On the last stroke of midnight, he took a breath and began to _play_. His fingers delicately pressed down on the black and white keys as his invisible right foot pressed down on the sustaining pedal, the instrument serenading its mournful tune to the empty house.

He had died at exactly one-forty-five in the morning, and that number had become his curse, his personal bane—for with each passing day, an additional one and three-quarter minutes was stolen from his not-existence per day, his time outside the monocle. The time stolen was cumulative. The first time he had woken up, he had had nearly a full day. And now, nearly two years later, he was down to just over six hours.

Tonight, one hundred sixty-two minutes was all he had.

One hundred sixty-two minutes to play on his prized piano whatever best conveyed what was in his heart before he was locked away once more inside his prison of metal and glass.

One hundred sixty-two minutes to mourn his death.

One hundred sixty-two minutes to grieve.

Silent tears rolled down his cheeks and fell from his chin as he played, the droplets evaporating into wisps of curling smoke the moment they hit the keys of ivory, for while he was, for the most part, incorporeal, his curse allowed him to interact only with the piano, as his hands would pass through any other object in the house. And so he played, expressing his grief, his heartbreak, his loss, his anger, his frustration, and his pain where his voice—permanently silenced—could not.

He thought of his mother and wondered how she was coping.

He thought of his best friend and hoped she had found someone else to confide in.

He thought of his rival-friend and wished he had been less hostile and friendlier from the onset.

But most of all, he thought of the sorceress who had forced him into this state and yearned for the ability to hate her.

And so he played, pouring every molecule of himself into the music as he soundlessly, violently, sobbed. The hours passed, and though few people, if none, gathered on the street outside to listen, no one dared to enter the abandoned and haunted home of the Kurobas.

\---

_He barely remembered landing the glider at his scheduled rendezvous location with Jii Konosuke, much less making it back to his house. All he could recall was pain and hazy glimpses of the worried faces of Jii and his mother and panicked shouting. It had been difficult to breathe—so, so terribly difficult—the action made him want to simultaneously cringe, choke, and throw up all at once._

_“—ood… so much blood—”_

_“—out of his clothes so we can get him to a hospi—”_

_“—re’s no time! He’s bleeding ou—”_

_He had been laid on his right side on the floor, half-aware of hands tearing at his clothing, desperately trying to staunch the flow of blood even as the pressure of his body on his wounds caused him to shriek and twitch in agony. He desperately sucked in mouthfuls of air, aware on some level that his right lung had collapsed due to his injuries and that he was slowly suffocating from a combination of a lack of lung capacity and said lung being slowly filled with his own blood. He morbidly predicted that he was going to die sooner from blood loss than suffocation, and sent a vague notion of a wish heavenward that his mother would not see him expire._

_“—to! Kaito!” Hands gently cupped his face, and he blearily blinked, his mother’s face swimming into view. When had he closed his eyes? “Stay with me, Kaito,” she quietly pleaded. “Stay with me.” Offhandedly, he noticed that her hands were slick, yet sticky on his face._

_“’kay, Kaa-san,” he mumbled thickly in reply, and he wondered why it was so difficult to answer with those three syllables. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth._

_He abruptly keened as his vision whited out, pain blurring out his surroundings as his wounds pulsed and he reactively writhed, the acrid tang of rubbing alcohol and the a coldness on his chest and back barely registering past the agony of his exposed flesh revolting against the contact with the disinfectant._

_“Hold him down! We can’t afford to have him injure himself more!”_

_“He’s too strong! I can’t—!”_

_He blacked out, the silence and the absence of pain a welcome relief._

_He came to much later, having had no recollection of how much time had passed. He realized he was standing by the coffee table, and Koizumi Akako stood before him in full sorceress regalia. Her expression was one of mingled triumph, regret, and grief. A quick glance downward revealed that he was still in his KID attire, the right side covered in dried blood. “May I ask why you are here, ojou-san?” he asked, keeping himself in character._

_Koizumi’s eyes flickered with muted pride as she shored up her expression to reveal nothing but haughty arrogance as she announced, “From this day forward, Kuroba Kaito, you are mine.” She held up a hand, and he noticed his monocle resting on the flesh of her upturned palm. The relic from his father glowed crimson in her hand as a seal extended around it. It glowed brighter and brighter, and then the light shot out to surround him entirely._

_There was pain and tightness and darkness and then… nothing._

\---

_[23:05:49] Be careful in Touichi-sensei’s house, Shin-chan. He was a prankster at heart and liked to booby-trap everything—and I think his son was the same._

\---

“Yo, Kudou!”

Shinichi turned to find Hattori Heiji approaching him with a weekend duffle slung over his shoulder as he dodged the pedestrian traffic at Tokyo Station. “Hello, Hattori,” Shinichi greeted back.

“So what’s this about a haunted house we’re going to visit?” the Osakan asked as they exited the wing for the Shinkansen trains and made their way towards the metro platforms.

“Let’s get something to eat for lunch and I’ll explain then,” the shrunken teenager said as they hopped onto the Keihintohoku Line, making a detour at Kanda Station to grab a bite for lunch. As they both sat at a table, Shinichi with butadon and Heiji with katsudon, Shinichi began to describe how he had become aware of the apparently haunted house, how his parents had connections with the owners of the house, and how they had recently acquired the home.

Heiji whistled. “So we’re going to check this place out tonight?”

The shrunken detective nodded. “It’ll give Kaa-san some closure, I think, if I at _least_ checked it out. That, and I can also tell the kids that it was all a fake to get them to stop moaning about it.”

“Knew you had an ulterior motive,” the Osakan remarked with a chuckle. “It couldn’t have been because I was your explanation for being able to go out and about so late, na?”

Shinichi chortled as he slurped an udon noodle. “ _Of course_ not, Hattori, of course not.”

\---

Hakuba Saguru quietly stepped into the house, shutting the door behind him as he closed his pocket watch with a soft _click_. The midnight chimes tolled in the distance, and the half-Briton sighed deeply. Twenty-three months ago, the blond had begun hearing rumors about the piano playing sporadically throughout the day despite the disappearance of its sole occupant and his classmate, Kuroba Kaito. He had come investigating, searching for a reason as to why the cheerful prankster-magician had stopped attending classes.

_Questioning Kaito’s best friend, Nakamori Aoko, had yielded no answers. All she knew was that two weeks after Kuroba disappeared, the Kuroba home had been bought by the Kudous—as in the famed mystery author and former actress couple. What their association with the Kurobas was, he had no idea, but the famous couple never once showed their faces in Ekoda upon purchasing the property. Saguru had, after two weeks of internal debate, sneaked into the abandoned and bought home in the wee hours of the morning when the piano had been playing. What he had found had nearly destroyed him._

_Kaitou KID sat playing the piano. His back had been to the detective, and Saguru’s eyes took in the cascade of his cape, saw how it crumpled into a small pile upon reaching the floor. Irritation and anxiety ignited in his chest, and he stomped over to his costumed classmate with the intention of scolding Kaito for being a delinquent. He stopped short, however, when KID turned, indigo eyes utterly miserably set in a face that expressed doleful resignation._

_“K-Kuroba-kun…?” he murmured warily, wondering if he was about to be had._

_But the phantom thief merely twisted around on the piano bench to face him, and Saguru had blanched upon seeing that Kuroba’s right side was liberally stained with old blood, and there were three bullet holes in the right side of his chest. With horrified realization, the blond, upon closer inspection, noticed that his classmate was faintly see-through and that his feet faded away halfway down his shins._

“Oh my god,” _he breathed, aghast. He stumbled backwards until he hit a wall, sliding down the surface as his legs gave out from beneath him. “Kuroba… you—you’re—”_

_The word “dead” never made it past his lips. Saguru could not force the word from his mouth even if he had tried. The very idea was beyond comprehension._

_Kuroba rose from his seat, his body language mournful as he slowly and silently approached his now former classmate. He knelt to be closer to eye level with the blond, and though he spoke slowly, no sound issued from his lips._

_Saguru was well versed enough in lip reading to understand that Kuroba had said,_ I’m so sorry, _and the blond could do nothing more than to heave a soul-weary sigh and reply quietly, “So am I.”_

So here he was, slipping in to the old Kuroba home at least twice a week if not more, nearly two years after his friend had officially died. It had been extremely difficult to come to terms with the phantom thief’s death, and the specter that continued to play the piano day after day had not helped the process. Saguru, being as time-oriented as he was, had noticed the decline in Kaito’s ability to remain outside of the monocle. He had observed, taken notes, and had calculated how much time Kaito had left. On the second anniversary of his death, Kuroba Kaito had—with whatever existence this after-death qualified as—only ninety-three days left in this plane of reality—three months left.

Saguru settled into his now customary seat at the kitchen table, out of immediate sight of the front door, intent on listening to his friend play the instrument as he contemplated his friend’s rapidly shortening existence. “Kaito,” he murmured after a long period of silence on his part and the melodious notes of Beethoven’s Sonata No. 8 in C minor, 2nd Movement: “Pathetique”. After nearly a year of visiting the apparition of his classmate, Saguru had, with Kaito’s permission, begun addressing the phantom thief by his given name with no honorific.

Kaito tilted his head in Saguru’s direction to indicate that he was listening even as his fingers continued to flutter across the keys.

Saguru swallowed thickly. He did not want to be the one to break the news to him, but he felt Kaito had a right to know. He took a deep breath and plunged forward. “Tomorrow is the second anniversary of your…”

Even now, the blond still could not get himself to use the term “death” in conjunction with Kaito, and the phantom thief could both hear and see Saguru’s struggle to come to terms with his apparent demise. Kaito stopped playing, choosing to rise from the bench and pad silently over to his friend. His hand reached out, though his attempt to pat Saguru’s shoulder failed and his hand swiped ineffectively through the detective’s body. Kaito sighed soundlessly and waved his hands before the half-Briton’s face to get his attention.

 _“I’ve learned to accept my fate,”_ Saguru parroted, reading Kaito’s exaggerated silent speech. _“It’s time for you to as well.”_

The blond shook his head. “I can’t, Kaito,” he replied with a stubborn shake of his head. “I cannot rest until I’ve brought the ones who killed you—and the ones who did _this_ to you—to justice.”

Kaito sighed, but waited until he had Saguru’s attention once more before he not-spoke. _My murderers, fine, but_ please _don’t look for the one who did this to me. The one who did this to me might do worse to you._

\---

“So… this is it,” Heiji said. Both Shinichi and Heiji stared that the rather nondescript home, listening to the dulcet notes a melancholy, swirling melody. “That’s… a surprisingly beautiful song.”

“It’s a piece called ‘East of Eden’, written for an American film with the same name,” Shinichi absently replied, completely enthralled by the tune. He had received the house key in the mail a few days prior, and had brought it with him. It was with a small amount of trepidation that the two friends stepped past the exterior gate and up to the front door. Both were surprised to discover that the door was unlocked, and they were instantly on their guard.

Heiji nudged Shinichi to the back and slowly opened the door. “East of Eden” finished with a harmonious crescendo, and there was a pause before “To Zanarkand” began. The pair eased their way into the home, eyes darting every which way. At the far end of the house, they could make out the outline of a white baby grand piano, and it took a split second later for them to realize that the player was also fully dressed in white—Kaitou KID.

Seeing KID for the first time in two years stole Shinichi’s breath away. The phantom thief was fully absorbed in his playing, and both Heiji and Shinichi were mesmerized by the way the magician immersed himself in the music. They both started rather violently when another figure emerged from an adjoining room to stand near the piano. Heiji’s gasp had both by the piano sharply glancing up, the music coming to an abrupt halt.

“Who are you?” the other person asked sharply in the ensuing silence, moving to stand protectively before KID. “Identify yourselves!”

“Edogawa Conan,” Shinichi chirped, and Heiji followed somewhat grudgingly after with, “Hattori Heiji.”

“Edogawa-kun? Hattori-kun?” The person stepped forwards, and only when the beams of moonlight arced over his face did they realize that the one who was not KID was none other than Hakuba Saguru.

“Ha-Hakuba-no-nii-san!” Shinichi stuttered, his mind whirling in confusion, “Why are you here?”

Hakuba gave the both of them a hard stare. “I could ask the same of you,” he countered, and Heiji bristled at the blond’s hostile tone.

“Wanted to see who was playing the piano,” he bit out, “Particularly since his parents own the place.”

The half-Briton jerked back as if scalded. “S-Sold?” he whispered, a frown of confusion on his face. “But—” He twisted back to gaze at KID, who silently shrugged helplessly. Hakuba returned his attention to the two detectives. “I see,” he whispered.

“Why is KID here?” Shinichi asked, his eyes on the phantom thief during the entire exchange. “Why has he not been holding heists if he’s here?”

Hakuba closed his eyes and ducked his head as KID rose from the piano bench. “Because,” the blond answered with deep, heavy sorrow, “KID’s dead.”

And as the phantom thief soundlessly approached the trio, both Shinichi and Heiji discovered, to their horror, that KID’s right side was covered in dried blood and that his feet and the bottom of his cape were invisible.

\---

_[03:52:28] Visited the Kuroba house last night with Hattori, Kaa-san. Kaito’s there, but he’s also not—call me when you have the chance?_

\---

The front door opened without any hesitation, and the clacking of heels echoed within the interior of the Kuroba home. The music, this time a nostalgic piece entitled, “River Flows in You”, stopped as KID glanced up at his unexpected visitor. A quick hand motion, shielded by his body, warned his other visitors to remain hidden as both Saguru and Shinichi had noticed how the thief’s frame had tensed.

“Still here, I see,” she murmured, an amused grin on her lips. “Have you reconsidered yet? I command you to speak.”

“Why am I not dead, Akako?” he asked, his voice as smooth as it had ever been, as though he had not gone for two years without speaking a word.

Koizumi Akako, in full sorceress apparel, huffed. “You _are_ dead, Kuroba-kun.”

Kaito growled. “But why am I still _here_?”

Akako’s eyes slid from taking in her surroundings to the literally phantom thief, a sly grin on her lips. “Because I could not let you go, Kuroba Kaito.” She sidled up to him, standing with her face nary centimeters away from his.

“Why?”

“Because you didn’t love me,” she answered with a pout.

Kaito’s expression twisted into a snarl. “That is _not_ a reason to keep me here, Akako,” he hissed as he stepped away, as though unable to stand being in her immediate vicinity.

Her eyes trailed his form longingly. “It is to me.”

The thief snapped around, cape flaring around his form. “So you keep me here, bound to this place for eternity?” Kaito had informed both Saguru and Shinichi that Akako had visited only once, on the anniversary of his death. The three detectives had missed her appearance by approximately seven minutes on his second anniversary. From what he could gather, Kaito figured that Akako did not realize that her spell had been slowly unraveling, and that his time in this plane of existence dwindled with each passing day.

“No,” she answered coyly, curling a stand of hair around a finger. “Only for as long as I am alive.”

Kaito snorted. “You’re being greedy, Akako.”

She shot him a dark scowl. “I am _not_ ,” she insisted. “I—I love you.”

“You don’t love _me_ ,” the thief refuted,” You love the _idea_ of me.”

Akako’s eyes narrowed in anger. “What’s the difference? I still have you—you are _mine_.”

“But to what end?” Kaito asked, and now there was no anger, no heat—only mournful resigned disappointment and a tinge of bitterness. “What use am I to _anyone_ like this?” He ducked his head, his gloved hands fisting tightly with the leather creaking in protest. “I’m technically dead, but I’m also not alive. I’m physically bound to this house by your seal on the monocle, the only thing I can touch is the piano, and I cannot say a single _word_. Tell me,” he gritted out, his voice now colored with frustration, _“What purpose do I serve here?”_

“You’re here because I _need_ you!” Akako nearly shouted, and there were suddenly tears, bright and glittering, in her burgundy eyes. “I can’t just let you go like that.”

“You would if you truly loved me,” he said softly but insistently, his expression a mixture of pity, irritation, and resignation.

The words were like barbed arrows, sharp and damaging, and the sorceress, gaze burning with affronted anger despite the tears, barked, _“Silence!”_ When Kaito once again proved he could no longer vocalize his speech, she immobilized the thief with a whispered command and stepped up to hold his gaze. The backs of her fingers affectionately grazed his cheek, and Kaito fought the urge to flinch away. “I love you too much to let you go,” she whispered before fleeing the house.

Saguru and Shinichi waited until they were sure Akako would not return before they cautiously approached the phantom thief. Kaito stood stock still, head bowed and eyes hidden by the brim of his hat, his frame nearly vibrating with tension.

“Kaito…?” Saguru murmured hesitantly.

The phantom thief spun abruptly, cape swirling around him as he stalked back to the piano bench. Seating himself with more force than was strictly necessary, he began to pound out the opening notes to “Black Impact”. There was anger in the music, fury and vexation snarling loudly while a thread of quiet menace ran beneath in insidious sustained notes.

The two detectives quietly returned to their seats at the kitchen table, allowing Kaito to vent his frustration with his situation by hammering on the ivories with an expression of sorrowful rage on his face.

\---

The discovery that Koizumi Akako had been the one to sentence Kaito to this limbo state of exile had stunned Saguru more than words could express. Initially, after both he and Shinichi had left the Kuroba house for the night, the blond had had half a mind to give his classmate a piece of it. It had been Shinichi who had talked Saguru out of that course of action. And even now, three weeks later, Saguru could still visualize Kaito as he mouthed the words, _The one who did this to me might do worse to you._

It pained him deeply to think ill of Koizumi, but Saguru had irrefutable proof that she was more dangerous than he had initially believed. To be fair, she had never exhibited any hint of knowing witchcraft, aside from somehow attracting the attention of every male in the school, sans Kaito, of course. Even _he_ had fallen for her, and the knowledge that it had been induced sat sourly in his stomach.

Saguru lay in his bed, restlessly staring at the ceiling. Since Kaito had become, for all intents and purposes, a ghost, the half-Briton’s sleeping patterns had become very erratic, and Saguru was often grumpy and irritated as a result. But even so, he still did his best to reign in his fatigue temper and dutifully visited Kaito whenever he had the time.

Tonight’s visit had possessed an unbearably melancholy feel, with Kaito playing doleful tunes and sometimes nearly had Saguru on the verge of tears. It was such a far cry from the upbeat, cheerful prankster that Kaito had once been, and Saguru wished with all of his heart that Kaito could be that free-spirited boy once more…

But Koizumi’s spell, and more importantly, the Syndicate that Kaito had been working so hard to expose—were the reasons that Kaito would never be that boy again. Saguru tried to imagine a future without Kaito entirely, and failed. The idea hurt too much.

Sighing, Saguru tugged his phone off the nightstand after a glance at his alarm clock revealed the time to be three twenty-five and opened a new text message. He typed in Shinichi as the recipient.

_[03:25:46] You still awake?_

A reply dinged a moment later.

_[03:25:53] Yeah. Can’t sleep?_

_[03:26:08] I’m worried about Kaito._

_[03:26:12] So am I._

\---

Today was Day 822—eight hundred twenty-two days after Kuroba Kaito had officially died. According to Saguru’s calculations, Kaito had exactly one and a half minutes’ worth of time outside of the monocle—and tomorrow night, he would never reappear again. Whatever happened tonight would be Saguru’s final memory of Kuroba Kaito, and the knowledge made something ache fiercely in his chest.

The blond stood next to Edogawa Conan, who, Saguru had come to find, was in reality a poisoned and shrunken Kudou Shinichi. The deceptively younger detective had insisted that he be here tonight, though Hattori Heiji had been unable to make it from Osaka much to Saguru’s private relief. The two detectives stood in the moonlit living room of the Kuroba home, waiting anxiously for the time when the bell tolled midnight.

“You’re sure, Hakuba?” Shinichi asked softly, his child’s voice at complete odds with the mature assurance of his tone. His eyes glimmered in the low light, as he had taken off his glasses. There was no need to hide—at least, not from these two people.

“I’m sure,” Saguru quietly replied, and if his voice hitched, Shinichi did not remark upon it. He consulted his pocket watch, counting down the seconds to the new day.

In the distance, the bell tolled midnight, and the two detectives watched silently as the monocle on the coffee table glowed and rose into the air, the image of Kaito emerging as the reddish light dissipated. Tonight, Kaito wasted no time and made for the piano. He plucked out the notes to a slow, melancholy tune, “There is One Destination”. As his fingers glided across the keys, he gazed up at his two companions, who had both approached the baby grand.

 _I guess my time is up,_ Kaito quipped, though the humor fell far too flat for any of them to even attempt to crack a smile.

“We’ll get them for you,” Saguru answered solemnly. It was a promise that he fully intended to keep.

Kaito shook his head. _The Syndicate was Kaitou KID’s problem, not yours. Detectives need not meddle in the affairs of criminals._

“But they need to be brought down anyway,” Shinichi quietly insisted, “Just like the Organization needs to be brought down as well.”

 _Just…_ Here Kaito sent them both watery smiles. _I cannot do anything to stop you, so stay safe. Please._

“Of course,” Saguru agreed instantly.

“We will,” Shinichi vowed.

A relieved smile, soft and genuine, graced Kaito’s lips. _Thank you,_ he said with the glimmer of tears in his eyes. _Thank you for staying with me this long, for bothering to see who I was beyond the hat and monocle._

Saguru felt his sinuses itch and he fought off the urge to cry. “Could we have done otherwise, Kaito?” he asked and managed a weak grin that was answered by the phantom thief.

Kaito repeated the short tune for a bit before Shinichi finally asked softly, “Kaito… are you… scared?”

The phantom thief ducked his head for a moment before he brought his chin back up. On his face was Kaitou KID’s trademark smirk. Had both Saguru and Shinichi not seen the tears that had pooled in his eyes just moments before, they would have never known that Kaito had been a hair’s breadth away from crying. Already his image was growing fainter, and the two detectives realized that they could see the sofa that was situated behind Kaito _through_ him. Yet he continued to play, and before Saguru and Shinichi completely lost sight of Kaito, he answered with a teardrop trailing down his cheek, _Always._

The monocle, the only part of Kaito that had not faded away, cracked down the glass before disintegrating into fine dust. The piano’s keys stilled, though the strings within the instrument still resonated with Kaito’s last finger strokes. The pair stood in silence as the piano’s sounds finally died away, both having to finally come to terms with the fact that Kuroba Kaito, known throughout the world as Kaitou KID, was no more.

“Twelve oh-one and thirty seconds flat,” Saguru quietly announced, and shut his pocket watch with a small _snick_. He inhaled deeply and released a shuddery breath, and, despite his best efforts, tears somehow managed to track their way down his face. He noticed that Shinichi was not much better off than he was. With a gentle hand on Shinichi’s shoulder, he murmured tiredly, “Come on, Kudou-kun, I’ll see you home.”

“Thanks,” Shinichi murmured in response.

The two trudged out of the house, and Shinichi locked the front door one final time. They stood out on the street and gazed at the now truly empty Kuroba house for one last time before Saguru ushered Shinichi towards Ekoda Station.

\---

_[00:45:38] Kaa-san, Tou-san, you can demolish the Kuroba house now. Kaito’s gone for good._

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: So I killed Kaito off again. I’m so sorry that I did that, but at the same time I’m not sorry. I did, however, tear up a lot writing this, and I felt so bad for forcing Saguru and Shinichi to watch Kaito slowly fade away. In Japan, ghosts tend to not have feet. The songs that Kaito plays are “Greensleeves”, and the version I refer to is entitled “Sad Music – Greensleeves” on YouTube, “Pathetique” by Beethoven, “East of Eden” by Lee Holdridge, “To Zanarkand” by Uematsu Nobuo, and “River Flows in You” by Yiruma. All of them are gorgeous pieces that I highly recommend listening to. “Black Impact (E)” and “There is One Destination (8)” are themes taken from Movies Thirteen and Fifteen: The Raven Chaser and Quarter of Silence, respectively. Houses in Japan are considered “temporary” structures; whenever a family moves, the existing house is demolished and a new house is built to the family’s specifications—so the Kudous wanted to keep the Kuroba house intact and therefore bought the property when Chikage became unable to continue paying the mortgage. I ended up creating a spreadsheet to calculate Kaito’s disappearance rate—god I’m such a nerd. I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Completed: 28.09.2016


End file.
